Tales and Trousers
by Kootenai
Summary: A collaboration of my short kid!lock fics. They were all prompted over at Tumblr. So, yeah, cute and adorable. There is one kid!Wholock though, just so you know.
1. Trousers

**So... Been in a bit of a rut lately... Ended up filling some prompts on tumblr and came up with a bunch of kid!lock. They are short, but...**

**I own nothing. Not even Sherlock's cute problem with the l's and r's.**

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><p>Sherlock was three when he first heard Mycroft tell him to put on any clothes. He had taken to walking around the Holmes Manor without any pants on. Normally he was in a diaper or, because he excelled at toilet training, in his "big boy" underwear. At this very moment, he was wandering around with a dark blue jumper on, which was at least two sizes too large, and had a yellow bee stitched onto the front.<p>

"Sherlock Holmes, put some trousers on."

Sherlock turned his head, dark curls bouncing around his baby face. He moved a curl out of his bright blue eyes and folded his arms. Then he pouted.

"No."

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. He was dressed in his school uniform, and it looked smart on him.

"Sherlock, please. You can't walk around the house like that."

"And why shuwdn't I?"

"It isn't proper."

There was a snort of amusement from the three year old, "Since when do I care bout what is pwoper?"

"Since now," and Mycroft lifted Sherlock up and pulled him into a pair of pants.

Sherlock sat down and glared at him, "One day, Mycwoft, you will say that and I won't wisten to you."

**oOo**

When Sherlock was nine, he found that this was more of a game than anything else. He liked playing "see how long it takes Mycroft to get you in your trousers". He could hold his older brother off longer now, seeing that he could run away. And so the game began…

"SHERLOCK HOLMES GET YOUR SKINNY ARSE BACK HERE AND PUT ON SOME TROUSERS!"

"Make me, Mycroft! MAKE ME!" There was gleeful laughter followed by a roar of anger as Sherlock was cornered and handed a pair of trousers. He scowled and put on the pants.

"One day, Sherlock… I swear."

"One day we'll be sitting in Buckingham Palace, and even then, I won't put on trousers if you begged me."

Mycroft cracked a rare smile and ruffled Sherlock's hair, "That will never happen."

**oOo**

When Sherlock was eighteen, he rarely left his room. There was no real reason to get up or even bother getting dressed. Often enough, he just sat in his boxers and wrapped himself in a sheet then deemed himself clothed enough to walk around.

"Sherlock…"

"I know, I know. Put on some trousers."

There was a sigh, "Sherlock, you are too old for this. It just isn't decent."

He turned to face his brother, his arms wrapped in his sheet. "Mycroft, I'm not _going_ anywhere. Nobody comes around, nobody cares."

And at that point, Mycroft just gave up.

**oOo**

Years passed, and suddenly, there they were. Mycroft standing on Sherlock's sheet in Buckingham Palace.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation. Put your trousers on."

Sherlock smiled to himself, "No."


	2. My Pet

**Another short fic about Jim Moriarty and his pets as a kid.**

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><p><strong>My Pet<strong>

Prompt: The history of Jim and his childhood pets.

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><p>"But dogs are boring…"<p>

A pair of large brown eyes stared into the pet store window, cold and calculating. Tiny hands were pressed up against the glass along with a small, round nose. Short, cropped black hair stuck up from odd angles as the boy shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Mom, I want a lizard," the voice was needy, almost whiney.

"Jimmy, Daddy said a dog. So we will get a dog."

The boy narrowed his eyes, _And I will not like the dog._

**oOo**

A week later and a small Shih Tzu puppy was running around in his back yard. Jim narrowed his eyes and watched it angrily. _That is not what I want for a pet. So how do I get what I want…_

A few days later, he "forgot" to close the gate and the puppy had run away. He dragged his mom back to the pet store and pointed at the lizard again.

"Mom, I want that lizard."

"Daddy said maybe we should try a cat this time."

The brown eyes narrowed again on the seven year-old, and he knew that this cat was NOT going to stay long.

**oOo**

After taking a page out of Tom Sawyer's book, quite literally and figuratively, Jim had given the cat painkillers and set it loose on all of his mother's good china. He smirked in a corner as he watched his parents put the animal in it's crate and take it back.

**oOo**

Three weeks later, Jim arrived with his mother again at the pet shop. The store owner was beginning to give the young boy some strange glances.

"Mom, I want-"

"Jimmy, we are getting fish."

The eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed.

**oOo**

There was perhaps nothing more beautiful sounding to Jim's ears as the sweet sound of butter sizzling in a frying pan. The only better sound was perhaps the sound of goldfish sizzling in butter in a frying pan.

**oOo**

This time, Jim was accompanied by his father when they went to the pet store. Jim ran up to the cage where the lizard was kept, and his eyes blew wide in shock.

"Da, the lizard isn't there…"

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, "Sorry, Jimbo. I guess we can't get you that lizard after all."

There was a cough, and Jim turned his eyes to the store keeper and knew immediately that he had hidden the lizard away somewhere.

"Fine…"

His father reached down to grab Jim's hand, but it was yanked away.

"I want a pet, Da."

Mr. Moriarty sighed, "Yes, I know. But the lizard isn't here."

Jim scanned the store silently, then crept up to another cage and peered inside.

"Da. I want this."

"No."

"DA. I WANT THIS."

"Jim-"

"DA!"

"JAMES!"

Jim slid onto the ground and started to cry. Not an average temper tantrum. This was heartbreakingly sad. First it was silent, then huge tears fell from his eyes. And then came the whimpering. It was, by far, the saddest thing anybody had ever seen.

"…Fine."

And the crying stopped immediately.

**oOo**

Years later, Jim held a private funeral for the only pet he ever loved, his pet python. He had named it Sebastian, and it had been his closest friend. His only friend. And now he had nobody.


	3. Who Gets To Be Captain?

**Another tumblr kid!lock prompt**

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><p><strong>Who gets to be Captain?<strong>

Prompt: Sherlock and John want to play pirates with Mycroft, but Mycroft isn't into it.

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><p>"Jawn, you have to understand. It is <em>my<em> ship so _I _am wogically the captain!"

A small boy around the age of five shook his blond head, arms lost in the folds of his large striped sweater. "No, Lock, I'm gonna be the captain this time 'round. You are always the captain!"

Sherlock frowned and adjusted his pirate hat on top of his head. Today was a special day. It was the day he had snuck into Mummy's closet and pulled out his pirate costume for All Hallow's Eve. He felt like a real pirate with his torn and tattered beige pants, a worn light blue t-shirt, a black vest and of course a wooden sword. For a four year-old, he took being a pirate very seriously.

"Jawn, I think you fail to understand the rules of this vessel. I am in control. The control… I have it," he finished lamely, trying to figure out exactly why he couldn't let John be the captain.

"C'mon, Sherlock! Captain John Watson sounds so… important!"

"You are important, Jawn, but I am the captain! You can be the co-captain."

John turned his body so he was no longer facing Sherlock and bit his lower lip, "You know… I don't fink I wanna play pirates anymo… I mean, whoz ever heard of a co-captain on a pirate ship?"

There was a groan as Sherlock brought his hand to face, "Fine. How bout you are captain of _your_ ship and I'll be captain of _my_ ship?"

John smiled and began to build a ship out of pillows. Twenty minutes later, cries of "FIRE!" could be heard while pillows were being blasted out of canons. There was laughter and quite a bit of yelling, when suddenly a twelve year-old boy stepped into the room and was hit immediately with a pillow.

"What on earth was that for?"

Sherlock jumped to his feet, almost falling over on the bed, and brandished his sword at Mycroft.

"What business do ye have with Sherwock Howmes, Captain of The Cwuedo?"

There was a sigh, "Sherlock, I'm not in the mood for your pirate antics today. I'm looking for my book."

John crawled up behind Mycroft and jabbed him lightly in the back with a broom handle. "Do you want to play wif us, Mycwoft?"

"No, John. I do not. I would like my book back."

"What do ye pwea?" Sherlock had gotten down and now had Mycroft between a wooden sword and a broom handle.

"What do you mean?" Mycroft threw his hands up, already having enough of this for one day.

"Do ye pwead parweigh?" Sherlock closed an eye half way and poked Mycroft's stomach with the sword.

"Parlay? You want to know if I plead parlay?"

"Aye!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and picked his little brother up and rested him on his shoulder.

"YOU CANNOT TWEAT THE GWEAT SHERWOCK HOWMES LIKE THIS! I'LL CALL FER MUTINY! MUUUUTINYYY!"

Sherlock was dispensed on the bed and John looked up at Mycroft expectingly.

"What is it, John?" he asked, tired of this.

"Well, sir… Would you like me to tie him up? I mean, you are now the commander of this… um… ship."

Mycroft just nodded and rubbed his temples, all too aware of the shouting coming from his little brother.

"I'll have your head for this, Mycwoft. I WILL! YOU WILL NEVER SEE YOUR TWEASURED BOOK AGAIN!"

John made quick business of tying up Sherlock with some bedsheets that were being used as sails. Quietly, he pulled a leather tome out from a pile of pillows.

"John, is that my book?"

"Well, um… It's the tweasure… Seeing as you are the captain…"

"I'M THE CAPTAIN!" Sherlock roared from his post.

Mycroft took the book gingerly from John's hands, "Thank you, John. I hereby relinquish my hold on this vessel and grant you the honor of the position of captain."

John's face lit up and Mycroft smiled to himself as he walked out of the room.

Not five minutes later were there screams of, "MUTINY! I CALL FOR MUTINY!" and a few "I'm the Captain, Sherlock. There'll be no mutiny on the Jolly Jam while I am captain."

But probably the loudest thing one could hear that day was laughter.


	4. Not My Area

**And this one features Irene and Molly.**

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><p><strong>Not my area…<strong>

Prompt: Little Irene and/or Little Molly dressing up as a boy to get into Sherlock and John's "No girls allowed" club.

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><p>"Sorry, Iwene. No girls allowed."<p>

A five year old brunette stomped her foot at the bottom of the tree house, "And why not?"

Six year-old John shrugged his shoulders as Sherlock pushed him over to look down the hatch. His blue eyes were narrowed slightly, eyebrows furrowed and his curly chocolate hair a mess.

"Iwene, it's not my area. We can't let girls in. That is wather the point of a 'No Girls Allowed' clubhouse."

Irene tossed her hair angrily and struck the base of the tree with a long willowy stick. She liked the sound it made whipping through the air.

"But, Sherlock…"

"No. And that's final!"

The hatch closed and Irene glared up at it.

"Oh, you'll let me in, Sherlock. You'll beg to let me in… twice," She turned on her heel and strode away to her friend Molly's house.

**oOo**

"Molly? You home?" She called over the fence.

"Huh? Oh, Irene! Hello… I was just… um… you know… looking at something…"

A boy with short black hair picked something long up off the ground and wrapped it around his neck.

"I'll see you next week, Molly?" the boy asked, petting the snake.

"Sure, Jim… I'll see you then." The mousey haired girl nodded quickly and watched the boy walk out of the yard, snake wrapped smugly around his shoulders.

Irene watched and entered when Jim left, "Molly…"

Molly looked up, her big brown eyes meeting Irene's dark ones. Irene was always slightly jealous of Molly's cute face and humble nature. She held out her arms and Molly walked up and gave her a hug.

"So, how were the boys?"

"That's why I came over, Molly…"

**oOo**

An hour later, Irene was dressed in dark overalls, a black shirt and had her hair stuffed up in a baseball cap. Molly thought she looked cute, which was all Irene needed to hear.

At the base of the treehouse, Irene knocked on a wood plank.

"Who's there?" John poked his head out from the hatch.

"Stamford."

"Hm?" Sherlock looked down then gave a quick nod to John, who threw the ladder down.

Irene climbed on up and into the treehouse. It wasn't all that impressive, but Sherlock had filled it with a map of the neighborhood, pictures of missing toys and a few notes written in crayon.

Sherlock's back was to Irene as he looked out the window with a pair of binoculars, "So… Iwene. What is so bwoody important that you had to dwess wike a boy?"

John did a comical double take, and Irene let out a soft sigh as she pulled off the baseball cap.

"I just wanted to be a part of the club."

"Well, you can't. Mostly because the cwub was an esperment to see how fawr you would go to get into the cwub."

Irene knit her eyebrows together, then reached over and smacked Sherlock across the face. With tears in her eyes, she climbed back down the ladder.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?"

She wrung out her hand as she got to the bottom. It stung and she thought she might have cut it on the binoculars.

"It was for being a meany!" She stuck out her tongue and ran back to Molly's shouting over her shoulder, "THIS IS HOW I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER ME! AS THE GIRL WHO HIT YOU!"

**oOo**

Back in the treehouse, John looked over the red handprint on Sherlock's face.

"Sherwock…"

"This is why I don't like pwaying wif girls, Jawn. They are nots my area."


	5. Meetings Wholock

**And here is the kid!Wholock. ^_^**

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><p><strong>Meetings<strong>

When Sherlock was five, his mother sent him away to boarding school. She thought it was the best option for him, seeing as he was a bit too much to keep an eye on at home. Mycroft had frowned, but didn't say anything.

So, that was how Sherlock came to be stuck in a room full of dull boys and dressed in an uncomfortable starchy white button down with a hideous blue-green vest on top. He pulled at his black pants anxiously and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

He tapped an older boy on the shoulder. The boy didn't seem to go to the school, but was visiting somebody.

"Excuse me…"

The boy turned around, light brown hair framing a tan face and brown eyes.

"Yeah? You need somethin?"

Sherlock blinked twice, then looked down at his black penny loafers. "I was gowing to ask you something… But instead I wanna say sowwy abowt your dad."

The older boy furrowed his eyebrows and rested a hand on his hip, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Sherwock Howmes," he looked up, big blue eyes peering at the older boy through dark curls.

"Well, Sherlock, I don't know how you knew my Dad was in a bit of a pinch, but you ought to keep your nose in your own business."

Sherlock looked down again uneasily, not sure what he did wrong. The older boy turned as a woman in a long brown coat called out, "Greg! Come, dear. If you want to check in on your father, we best head to the hospital now."

"Coming, Mum…" Greg sighed and cast another glance at Sherlock, who was completely silent. "Look, there's somethin different bout you, Sherlock. Just keep yourself outta trouble, okay?"

The curly haired boy nodded and walked away quietly.

**oOo**

A week had passed when Sherlock decided that if nobody wanted to hear what he had to say about anything, he wasn't going to talk. He sat moodily through lessons, and during science he made a catapult out of pencils and rubber bands and launched a model of the planet earth through the air. He had laughed, but his teachers didn't find it so funny. From that day forth, Sherlock vowed that the solar system was useless.

**oOo**

Months had gone by, and all the boys knew to just stay away from Sherlock Holmes. He didn't want anybody near him, and everyone was happy to oblige. Most of the time, Sherlock could be found in the library, seated by a window and reading from a chemistry book or the history of modern crime. But there were days when he would just stare out the window into the forest beyond the school and wonder what could be out there.

**oOo**

Around Christmas, Sherlock snuck out of the courtyard and hid in the pines, watching and waiting for somebody to notice he was gone. Nobody did. He smiled to himself and pulled his black coat closer to his body and rewound his blue scarf before setting out into the snowy forest.

He had been walking for a few hours before it had gotten dark. Nobody was around, and that was just fine with him. Sherlock had found a stream and was watching small fish under the ice when he heard a sound farther off in the forest.

Sherlock looked up, blue eyes wide in curiosity. Slowly he stood up and brushed the snow off his pants and coat, then made his way to where the sound had come from. He grabbed a thick stick and hid it behind his back as he walked.

"Hello?"

He had reached a clearing, where a man in a trench coat was walking around in circles. Sherlock paused and knit his eyebrows together, watching the strange man.

The man had a tan coat that reached to his calves, red sneakers (which Sherlock thought were impractical for this weather), a pinstripe suit, a black tie, glasses and the most ridiculous brown hair Sherlock had ever seen. He deemed the man either harmless or insane.

"Scuze me…"

The man jumped and spun around a few times before seeing Sherlock, hidden behind a tree.

"Oh… OH! Hello!" The man smiled a wide, genuine smile and sort of bounced up to Sherlock.

Sherlock gave him a disapproving look and held onto the stick a little firmer.

"Who are youz, and why are you here?" puffs of frozen breath hung between the two of them as the strange man rubbed his chin, as if thinking about the correct answer.

"I'm here to… um… here. Do you see?" He brandished a brown pocket book in front of Sherlock and pointed to a page. "That's who I am, and it should explain why I'm here."

Sherlock frowned, "That papers bwank."

The man raised an eyebrow and glanced at the paper before putting it back in his pocket, "So it is then… And who are you?"

"My name is Sherwock Howmes. And who, wather, what are you? I can hear three hearts beating. One is mine, but the others must be yours…"

There was a moment of silence between them, before the man grinned again. It seemed like a childish grin, as if he found something that he shouldn't have.

"Sherlock Holmes… You have no idea how much I've wanted to meet you. Well, actually… I was on my way to meet you. Just, wrong time."

Sherlock furrowed his brows, deciding the man was not harmless but rather insane. "Who are youz?"

The man held out a hand, "Sherlock, I'm The Doctor."

The five year-old extended his gloved hand and shook with the man. "The Doctor?"

The Doctor nodded, then stood up looking around again. "Say, Sherlock, when am I?"

"When… You means the year?"

There was a swift nod, and Sherlock couldn't help but watch the hair on the strange man's head dance in the sudden movement.

"1981."

"Ah… So you are… five then?"

Sherlock nodded, and The Doctor knelt down and placed a hand on both of Sherlock's shoulders.

"Sherlock, this is important. I can't take you with me now, but I promise, one day, when you are falling and out of options, I will be there for you."

"What's that apposed to mean?"

The Doctor smiled and ruffled Sherlock's hair, "You won't know now, but you will know when you need me. Remember though, what happened today is secret. Between you and me."

The young boy nodded. He had a feeling that this man would be important later on, and for some reason he trusted him.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor had gotten up and was walking away to what seemed to be a large blue police box, which was situated sideways in a snowbank.

"Hm?"

"Can you tell me somefin impowtant?"

"Depends on the question."

Sherlock looked down at his shoes, then back up at the man, "Will… Will I eva have a fwiend?"

The Doctor smiled softly and nodded, "And he will be your best friend in the entire universe. Throughout all time and space, the two of you will have the closest friendship."

Sherlock smiled softly, "Thank you…"

The man nodded and opened up the door to the box and rolled inside.

"Good-bye for now, Sherlock."

Sherlock waved a little and whispered, "Allons-y, Doctor."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, "Allons-y?"

"It means, 'Wet's go.'"

"Well, you aren't coming with me now, but yes. Allons-y, Sherlock Holmes. I'll be seeing you again."

The door closed and there was a vwoorp vwoorp as the blue box disappeared.

**oOo**

Sherlock kept his word and never told anybody about what had happened out in the forest that Christmas break. Then again, nobody really asked. They all wanted to know if he thought he was an idiot for sneaking out of school. Sherlock didn't say anything.

**oOo**

29 years later, Sherlock stood on the top of a building looking down at his best friend in all time and space. After tossing his mobile to the side, he raised his arms and whispered to himself…

"Allons-y."

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><p>Yeah... I used Tennant as the Doctor. *shrugs* I'm a Tennant fan.<p> 


End file.
